Hidden Oceans

• Claire Hansen, , Merici College
• Short Story
• 2001

Finalist in the 'Zapped! 2001' competition

Some say my mother jumped off that cliff. Others say she just gave herself to the one thing she loved – the ocean. Whatever it was that made her leave me, I can’t forgive her. The only thing that keeps my hart beating is the diary. Her curved, silky writing flows through the dusty pages, streaming with the fluency of a river.
Today, alone, I ponder through the diary, distant salt air wafting through me. The waves yearn to enfold me, wrap me in creamy arms of seaweed and salt. A sense of belonging rushes through me as familiar as the sand beneath my toes. The moon laces the water, embroidering it with intricate, silver curls. Suddenly, I feel it. My eyes narrow, and I turn the page. The subject has changed; the magical tone has dissipated to nothingness. My heartbeats with the passion of a storm, truth lurk, hidden as the moon behind feisty clouds.
I glance outside at the sun crowning the land in its wreath of gold-drenched rays.
Eventually, the warm light disperses and I hear a breeze fluttering in my ear. It whispers words of sweet temptation to my soul; I can hear silvery words slipping in the wind like fish in the wave.
My eyes open rustily. Unfinished homework lies beside rough sketches of oceanic views. There is no sound, yet the silence itself talks louder than words. I smell the sea, its scent instilled in the moonbeams floating around my room. Come to me. The words are not heard, but felt. There is no confusion. I see only the waves; the shimmering blues and greens merging and sweeping like liquid sapphire.
I am outside before I realise it, taking the old path from the rickety house, though the forest, down to the sandy shores. Leaves brush at me, as if touching me in farewell. I feel their cool emerald touch caressing my pale skin. The yearning grows stronger and my body seems to be pulled with the force of the tide.
The waves lick at my toes, lifting grains of sand and stealing them back to the deep. My skin tingles, as if it is a liquid in itself, and it mingles and blends with the salty water. Abruptly, they are there. Merfolk, with tails of foam and scale, eyes of blue and green. I see a vision of my mother’s face in a photo, frozen and capture forever behind the prison walls of photography. Now, her face, unchanged, flashes a grin as bright as the camera light. They dive and jump and I try to feel my legs, but they are gone. The slippery feel of rushing water runs past my fins. The waves yearn to enfold me, wrap me in creamy arms of seaweed and salt. A sense of belonging rushes through me as familiar as the sand beneath my toes. The moon laces the water, embroidering it with intricate, silver curls.
Suddenly, I feel it.